


Hanging by a Thread

by LoftyLou22



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-01-15 16:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21256178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoftyLou22/pseuds/LoftyLou22
Summary: When the two men had seen Callum, they'd looked towards Ben. Not because they were surprised he was there, but because they were awaiting his instruction. He was their boss. Ben wasn't up on the bridge because he was trying to save Martin, he was the one responsible for putting him there."Callum," Ben says, leaning forwards, and now he's the one who sounds scared. "Cal-"-What if Callum had seen Ben and Martin on the bridge?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started because I’m an irritating stickler for realism and it annoyed me that no one walked past while Martin was on the bridge. Then I wondered what would have happened if that person had been Callum. The next chapter - from Ben’s POV - should hopefully be up tomorrow. Thanks for reading, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Callum's walking back from E20 when he hears it. It's quiet at first, a low, dull grunting sound that makes him turn around and look behind him. He doesn't know what he expects to see: a gang of drunken lads, perhaps, or a determined Leo, following him in the hope of uncovering more dirt that he can "accidentally" show to Whitney. There's no one there, though. Callum’s almost disappointed. Their conversation in the club has gotten his back up, and he wouldn't mind another chance to tell Leo just how little he thinks of his underhanded schemes.

Callum turns back around. He's nearing the caff when he hears it again, much louder this time. He freezes, his blood running cold. He knows that sound, he's heard it too many times in the army not to recognise it again now: terror. Someone, somewhere close by, is out of their mind with fear and Callum needs to help them. It still feels like it’s his duty, even now.

The noise comes again. It sounds high up, almost as if it's coming from directly above his head. Callum looks up, taking a step forward so that he comes out from underneath the bridge. He slams to a halt, the shock of seeing a man being dangled over the side of it bringing him up short.

The man’s face is so unnaturally bloated, dyed an ugly purplish-red by the excess of blood that’s rushing to their head, that it takes him a minute to realise who it is: Martin. There are two thick-set men holding him by his ankles and, as Callum watches, the one on the right loosens his grip and lets Martin jerk down another few inches. Martin cries out and the man laughs, saying something to his accomplice that Callum can't hear.

"Hey!" Callum shouts, fumbling to extract his phone from his pocket. "Stop it! You put him down or I'm calling the police!"

The two men startle, their heads snapping to the right. It's then that Callum spots the third man, stood slightly apart from the rest of them, his arms resting on the side of the bridge as he looks over to watch. The third man’s face is deathly white, drained of all its blood in the same way that Martin's is currently overflowing with it.

Ben. It’s Ben. For a moment Callum's heart soars. Ben's here and everything will be all right. He'll sort it out, it's what he always does. He takes the problems in Callum's life - the things that seem so hopeless - and he makes them right, makes them better. He makes everything so much better.

Callum goes to call out to him when something in Ben's face makes the words dry up in his throat. Ben doesn't look the way Callum expects him to. His expression isn't angry, or worried, or any of the things it should be. It's guilty. Ben looks guilty and, in that moment, reality slams into Callum like a high-speed train.

He replays the last thirty seconds in his mind, understanding stealing over him like an icy wind. When the two men holding Martin had seen Callum, they'd looked towards Ben. Not because they were surprised he was there, but because they were awaiting his instruction. He was their boss. Ben wasn't up on the bridge because he was trying to save Martin, he was the one responsible for putting him there.

"Callum," Ben says, leaning forwards, and now he's the one who sounds scared. "Cal-"

Only Callum doesn't want to hear it. He can't. Spinning on his heel, he takes off down the street at a run, his feet pounding against the pavement as if it's him those thugs on the bridge are after. Maybe they will be. Now that they know he's seen them, maybe they'll come for him after they've finished with Martin. He wants to believe that Ben won’t let them, that he'll stop them from hurting Callum, but he can no longer be sure. The man he’s just seen on the bridge is nothing like the one who'd snuggled up to Callum in the kitchen that morning. The one who’d put his warm hands on Callum's hips and kissed his arm so tenderly. He’s nothing like him at all.

"Callum!" The shout is desperate, but Callum doesn't look back. He doesn't want to see what expression is on Ben's face now. No matter how bad it is, it can't be worse than the one that’s taken up home on Callum's. He feels devastated, flayed wide open as if someone has dug into his chest and ripped out his heart with their fists.

He speeds up, sprinting towards his flat. He reaches the front door, his hands slapping at his pockets, rushing to find his keys. He has to get inside before Ben catches up with him, he doesn't know what he'll do if he sees him. It feels wrong, this need to get away from him. For months, Ben's been all Callum can think about, the only person he wants to be around. Now the thought of looking at him makes Callum's stomach turn.

The sound of someone running fills the deserted Square.

"Callum, wait!"

Panicking, Callum pulls his keys from his pocket. His long fingers are shaking, though, and the metal slips through his hands and falls onto the ground with a clatter.

"Shit!" he curses, bending down to search for them.

He finds them just as Ben comes into sight. He's streaking towards Callum, fighting to get to him before it's too late. Callum shoves the key roughly into the lock, turning it as Ben comes rushing up the path.

"Cal-" he says, reaching out to him as Callum steps into the hallway.

His fingers grasp in the fabric of Callum's jacket, falling away as he moves out of reach.

Callum spins around at the sound of his name. Even after all Ben’s done, he still can't bear to turn his back on him completely. It’s hardly a surprise; he’s never been able to deny Ben anything, even the things he knows he shouldn't give him. Especially those things.

Callum glances at him. The Ben staring back at him looks younger than Callum ever remembers seeing him. Younger even than he did the night Callum found him crying in Paul's old bedroom, eaten up by grief and guilt and a loneliness that would not let him be. Callum's no stranger to loneliness, the way it claws at your insides, the way it makes you ache. It's this that makes him soften, that makes his hand let go of the open door and reach out to the man standing in front of him.

"Babe," Ben says gently, relief making his eyes grow wet.

_Babe_. Ben had called him that this morning, sleepy-eyed and soft as he only is before he's woken up fully. He'd pulled Callum close and kissed his cheek and Callum had felt so safe, so whole. So loved.

He wishes he could close his eyes and travel back to that moment. Instead, he blinks and all he sees is Martin, upside down and petrified, while Ben stands there looking on, doing nothing. Saying nothing. Turning this precious, incredible thing between him and Callum into nothing.

Dropping his gaze, Callum shuts the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: I gave up EE for a couple of years when I started uni, so I missed out on the Ben/Paul era. Thanks to the wonders of YouTube, I binge watched it over the last two days, although I’m not sure how much it added to this fic - other than the line about his hair band!  
Thanks to everyone who commented on chapter one, I really enjoyed seeing your reactions. I hope you enjoy part two. The next chapter is half written already, so it should be up in the next couple of days. Thanks for reading.

Ben is the first to realise that they’re not alone. He’ll forgive Martin for not clocking that they’ve got company, as the bloke’s got more pressing matters to deal with at the moment, but the other two? They’ve been in this game long enough to know the importance of keeping an eye out. As it is, they’re both so busy playing silly beggars that they wouldn’t notice if the whole of Walford’s Old Bill came marching down the street, truncheons in hand and whistles at the ready.

Ben stares down at the man who’s just appeared on the street, the man with the long limbs and familiar, loping gait, and feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. He knows it’s Callum before he even looks up. He’s been watching him for so long now that he’d recognise him anywhere. Even here, in the one place that Ben doesn’t want to run into him.

“Argh!” Martin screams as they pretend to drop him.

“Butterfingers!” Tubs’s Orc-wannabe mate mutters, the two of them giggling away like a pair of mindless school girls with a crush.

Only Ben no longer finds it funny. Just moments ago he’d been on top of the world, lording it over an old enemy, playing at being the big man. Now he’s never felt so small.

_Just walk away_, he begs silently, knowing all the while that Callum won’t. He’s too decent for that. Given the choice, he’ll willingly put himself in danger to save others. Ben’s always admired that about him, but not tonight. Tonight, he wishes he was dating a coward.

“Hey!” Callum yells, doing a good job of acting tough even though Ben can tell he’s frightened. “Stop it! Put him down or I’m calling the police!”

Tubs and his mate jump, and Ben could happily chuck them both off the bridge when they turn to look at him, giving away his position.

He watches on, helpless, as Callum’s gaze follows theirs. As it lands on Ben like a searchlight, illuminating his sins for all to see. The worst part is that Callum actually looks pleased to see him. His shoulders, tense ever since he stepped out from underneath the bridge, relax and his eyes crinkle happily in the corners. Given another minute, Ben honestly thinks he might break out into a smile. He genuinely seems to believe that Ben’s the hero in all of this, the fairytale prince who’s going to swoop in and save the day. Ben winces, wishing he was half the man Callum thinks he is.

_Thought he was._ Because, before his very eyes, the Rose-tinted glasses are shattering. First Callum looks confused, then troubled, then heartbroken. It only takes a few seconds for Ben to come crashing down in his estimations, but it feels like years. Decades. An entire lifetime.

“Callum,” Ben pleads. “Cal-“

Before he can say more, or even attempt to fix this mess he’s made, Callum takes off. Anyone watching would think it’s the scene on the bridge that he’s fleeing, but Ben knows better. He knows it’s him Callum’s running away from, their relationship that he’s fighting to escape.

He should let him go. A better man would. Callum deserves to be with someone as good and pure as he is, someone who will walk with him in the light, not drag him down into the darkness.

“Callum!” he shouts, because he’s selfish and weak and because he doesn’t want it to end like this. He can’t bear to be without him, to be left on his own all over again.

He goes to follow him when Tubs calls him back. “What should we do with him?” he asks, tilting his head towards where Martin still hangs suspended.

Ben frowns, he’d forgotten he was there. It had all felt so important a few minutes ago. He’d enjoyed doing this to Martin, exacting revenge for that time, years ago, when he’d done the very same thing to Ben. He’d been young then, soft and sweet-natured, and he’d been made to pay for it. Well, not any more. Unlike Callum, Ben’s had all the innocence beaten out of him over the years, one way or another.

“Let him go,” he says wearily.

“But-“

“Are you deaf, or something? I said, let him go!”

Ben doesn’t stick around to see if they listen to him. Instead he climbs down from the bridge and chases after Callum. His head’s a mess of emotions as he runs, but mostly he’s angry at himself for feeling so blindsided; he should have expected something like this to happen. Everything good in his life turns rotten, eventually. The things that make him the happiest have always ended up hurting him the most.

“Callum, wait!” he calls, even though he can’t see him. He’s probably long gone by now, shut up inside his flat, as unreachable as the curly-haired boy who used to call those same four walls his home.

Not for the first time, he wishes Paul was here. He’d know what to do. He was always good in a crisis, keeping his head while Ben was going crazy losing his. He often wonders what Paul would be like now, if he’d been given the chance to grow older. Would he be fatter or thinner? Louder or quieter? Would he still wear that ridiculous band in his hair? Would he still think Ben was worth loving? Worth saving?

He hopes so. Paul wasn’t as blind to Ben’s faults as Callum is. _Was_. He knew that Ben could be cruel, that he could be hard and mean and petty. He knew that and he’d wanted him in spite of it. Ben can only pray that Callum feels the same.

He rounds the corner, expecting to see a locked door, but instead he finds Callum bending down in front of it. It feels like a sign. A lifeline. Ben grabs at it, reaching out to hook his fingers in Callum’s jacket. The door is open now though, and Callum steps inside, away from him, and Ben’s hand is left clutching at empty air.

For a moment he thinks that’s it. That Callum’s going to walk away and leave him standing out here in the cold. But then he does the unthinkable. He turns around.

“Babe,” Ben breathes, lightheaded with relief. It’s going to be okay. Callum’s seen him at his very worst, and he’s still here. He’s not leaving. Maybe this is one good thing that Ben will actually get to keep.

He’s moving forward when Callum’s expression shutters like a screen coming down. The man in front of him blinks and his face goes blank. Lifeless. He shuts the door.

“Callum!” Ben cries, pounding his fist against the wood. “Let me in!”

“Go away!”

“I can’t, Cal,” Ben pleads, desperate now. “You know I can’t.”

“I don’t want to see you.”

“If you’d just let me explain, you’d understand that-“

“That what? You weren’t going to throw Martin off the bridge?”

“What? Of course I weren’t!”

“Then what was all that about? Were you just torturing him for the fun of it? Is that how you get your kicks?”

“You know how I like to get my kicks,” Ben says, instantly regretting it as soon are the words are out of his mouth. Now isn’t the time for innuendoes.

Callum clearly agrees. “Can’t you be serious for one minute? This ain’t a joke, Ben!”

“I know that, all I’m saying is, sometimes things aren’t what they seem...like you in that video Leo found.”

“If you even try to compare-“

“I’m not comparing,” Ben argues, banging his head against the door in frustration. He’s getting this all wrong. He can feel Callum slipping further away from him with every word, and he doesn’t know how to bring him back. He has to find a way to bring him back. “I’m just...please, Cal, can I just come in for a minute? It’ll be easier if we talk about this face to face.”

“Easier for you, maybe.”

It’s not a no though, and so Ben pushes on, sensing a chink in Callum’s armour. He wants to hear Ben out, that’s the truth of it. Despite everything, he’s still hoping there’s an explanation, a reason why this isn’t as bad as it looks. It makes Ben’s chest ache, the way Callum is always searching for the good in him, even when there’s none to be found.

“C’mon, Cal. Please? If you don’t like what I’ve got to say, then I’ll go. I swear I will. Just two minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

Callum snorts, softening. “You always have to push, don’t you? First you said one minute, now it’s two.”

Ben smiles, wiping at damp cheeks with the back of his hand. “Yeah, well, I’m never satisfied, am I? I thought you liked that about me? Certainly weren’t complaining last night.”

Ben doesn’t need to see Callum’s face to know that he’s rolling his eyes, his expression torn between exasperation and amusement. He knows it like he knows his own name, like he knows that he’ll never manage to do right by his dad, or fail to hunt down anyone who does wrong by his daughter. He knows it because Callum’s already under his skin. He’s already family. And, if being a Mitchell has taught him anything, it’s that you don’t give up on family.

“Callum?” he presses, his voice low. The moment feels important, weighty, as if their entire future hangs upon it.

“Callum, open the door.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ben’s on him as soon as he opens the door, sturdy arms wrapping round his back, head burrowing deep into his chest like he’s planning on setting up home there. Callum shuts his eyes and doesn’t hug him back.

“You OK?” Ben asks, his voice muffled by the material of Callum’s shirt.

“Let’s just go upstairs, yeah?” Callum says, detangling himself as he turns away.

Callum looks around for Stewart as they enter the flat. He’s glad his brother’s not in. He’s already had his fill of violence for one night.

Ben’s standing awkwardly in the doorway, not saying anything, and Callum doesn’t know what to do, so he shrugs out of his jacket and throws it onto the sofa. It lands badly, and he and Ben both watch it slip down the arm and pool onto the floor. Callum hates mess, but right now he’s too tired to pick it up.

He feels drained, his bones so heavy that even dragging himself to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water feels like a Herculean task, more exhausting than one of the dreaded, crack-of-dawn drills he was regularly subjected to in the army.

“Want one?” he asks Ben, glancing back over his shoulder, because he’s nothing if not polite.

Ben shakes his head. “Nah, you’re all right.”

Callum runs the tap, filling up his glass and draining it in one long, continuous slug. He swallows and fills it up again, just for something to do.

He hasn’t felt this awkward around Ben since the day he’d gone round to confront him about the stolen motor. He’d been aware of him ever since he’d shaken his hand in the Vic, his presence a persistent, distracting niggle at the edges of Callum’s consciousness, like a wasp buzzing round his head on a hot summer’s day, just waiting for the perfect moment to sting.

That moment had come when Callum pushed Ben up against the doorframe of the Beales’ living room. He’d given himself away so easily, but he hadn’t been able to hold back. Pressed up close against Ben like that, anger and frustration and _want_ pulsing through his body like a second heartbeat, he’d been powerless to do anything but give into it. To drop his guard along with his gaze and reveal the man he really was.

Back then, it had been Ben who’d discovered his true colours, but now the tables have turned, and Callum doesn’t like what he sees. Sure, he’d known from the start that Ben wasn’t a saint - the whole selling-him-a-stolen-motor-thing had been a bit of a giveaway - but he hadn’t thought him capable of something like this.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks. The unspoken “Why’d you do this to us?” lingering in the cramped kitchen like an unpleasant smell.

Ben shrugs, his face giving nothing away. “Me and Martin, we’ve got history.”

Callum shakes his head, unable to believe what he’s hearing. “Oh, so he deserved it then, did he? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“No, I’m telling you he ain’t as innocent as he likes to make out.”

“Maybe he ain’t, but that still don’t give you the right to do what you did!”

Ben’s mouth thins out, his lips like a line you’d make with a ruler, long and straight, slashing his face in two. For the first time tonight he looks angry, combative. A man capable of ordering two heavies to throw someone off a bridge. “And you’d know all about right and wrong, wouldn’t you, Cal?”

Callum frowns, a flicker of unease passing through him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ben laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. It’s nothing like the throaty chuckles he makes when they’re alone together, the two of them curled up tight, the deep hum of Ben’s laughter vibrating against the bare skin of Callum’s chest like a cat’s purr. “I ain’t the one who lied to a girl for months, who made her bowl up in a wedding dress and humiliate herself in front of the entire Square.”

Callum flinches. “That’s not the same. I wasn’t trying to hurt Whit. I loved her.”

Ben scoffs.

“I did!” Callum protests.

“You were trying to hurt me, though, weren’t ya?” Ben says, pinning him against the kitchen counter with only a look. “That time you sent dear old Stewie round to sort me out. You were so desperate to keep your sham of a relationship going that you’d have let him beat me up just to keep me from talking.”

“I was messed up,” Callum argues weakly. He doesn’t like to be reminded of that day. The thought that Ben could have been hurt because of him makes Callum sick to his stomach. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Ben snorts. “You can say that again.”

“I was scared,” Callum pushes on, ignoring him. “I just wanted you to stop...I didn’t go through with it, though. I couldn’t. When it came down to it, I couldn’t do it. I don’t have it in me.”

“Oh, but you do, Cal, otherwise you wouldn’t have set your guard dog of a big brother on me in the first place. No, the only difference between me and you is that I don’t hide who I am. I don’t go around with a dopey grin on my face pretending to be the good guy. I own it.”

“You own it, do you? So how come I’ve never seen you act like this before?”

“You have,” Ben says, and he’s smirking now, an ugly, humourless thing that hurts to look at. “You just chose to look the other way. Not exactly the first time you’ve lied to yourself to make life easier, is it, babe?”

Callum shakes his head. Once he’d have been fooled, but he knows Ben better now. He knows his game. He’s trying to goad Callum into a fight so he’ll forget about Martin, only it’s not going to work. You can’t brush something this big under the carpet and walk around like it ain’t there. You just can’t.

“What about Lexi?” Callum presses, refusing to lie down without a fight. “Does she know what you’re really like? You being so honest about it, and all?”

“You leave her out of this,” Ben warns, his eyes turning cold.

“Why?” Callum pushes, reckless in a way he so rarely is. Ben brings out this side of him. He makes him braver, bolder; the kind of guy who’ll stand up against his own father in a pub full of people and confess his feelings. He’s doing the same thing now: fighting for his and Ben’s relationship. Only now it’s his own boyfriend he’s having to square up against, the darker part of Ben that he needs to triumph over.

“If you own it like you say you do,” Callum persists, “then you wouldn’t have minded if it was Lexi who’d seen you on the bridge tonight, would you? Maybe I should tell her. Tell her what her dad gets up to when he’s not letting her dress him up like a princess or teaching her how to dance.”

“You dare say anything to my daughter and I’ll...”

“You’ll what?” Callum challenges, pushing Ben away when he comes charging forwards. “You’ll send your mates after me? Martin might not be innocent, but I’m not either, according to you. So, what’d he do, Ben? What’d he do that was so bad?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

Ben rubs his hand down his face, breathing out heavily as he steps back. “You know what, forget it. You’ve obviously made up your mind about me. I’m not going to stand here and dredge up the past just for the sake of it.”

Callum frowns, putting down his glass and rushing after Ben when he turns and walks away.

“Hey, don’t you turn this around on me! That ain’t fair, Ben. We’re together, aren’t we? Don’t I deserve to know what’s going on with you?”

“You know what’s going on with me. I’m the bad guy, remember? Or do you need me to rough up some more blokes to prove it to ya?”

“That ain’t true,” Callum says, following Ben through the flat. “You’re not bad, not really. You just made a mistake. If you talk to me about it, maybe I can help you.”

“Oh yeah, and how are you going to help me, Cal? Are you going to volunteer to hold Martin’s ankles for me next time? No, I’ve got it, you could use your job at the undertakers’ to help me bury the bodies of all my poor, defenceless victims. That could be a decent little earner. We’d make an absolute killing, so to speak.”

“Stop talking like that, you’re not a killer.”

“No?” Ben asks, flashing him a dark look over his shoulder. “You sure about that?”

“Look, stop messing around and come here, will ya?” Callum says, reaching out for him.

Ben shrugs him off, not slowing down, and Callum has to push past him and flatten his back against the flat door to stop him from leaving.

“You ain’t going anywhere until you tell me everything.”

Ben squares his shoulders as if he’s preparing to barrel Callum out of the way before he changes his mind, sighing heavily as he rocks back on his heels. He looks as tired as Callum feels. “Get out of the way, Cal.”

“No.”

“You’re so stubborn!” Ben groans, frustrated.

“Yeah, well, I don’t let up, do I?” Callum says, echoing Ben’s words from earlier. “I thought you liked that about me? Certainly weren’t complaining last night.”

Ben looks at him, surprised, before his glower cracks open into a reluctant smile. He rolls his eyes. “Idiot,” he says, but his voice is soft.

“What happened with you and Martin?” Callum presses, gentle now. He knows he’ll have to tread lightly if he wants Ben to trust him with the truth.

Ben drops his head, kicking at the scuffed carpet with his shoe. “What you saw, him hanging over the bridge. He did that to me once, years ago, when I was just a kid.”

Callum freezes, horrified. “What?”

“He was angry with my dad. He’d helped Sonia run away with Rebecca and Martin wanted to find out where they’d gone. My dad wouldn’t tell him, so he decided to use me as added motivation,” Ben says, his voice so calm that it’s almost frightening. Anyone listening in would think he was recounting something which happened to someone else. Someone he doesn’t even like. That that person is his younger self makes Callum’s insides hurt. He wishes he’d lived around here when Ben was growing up, wishes they’d been mates. Maybe then Ben wouldn’t look back on his childhood years with such self-loathing.

“I was an easy target back then,” Ben continues, his lip curling disdainfully as he remembers the kid he used to be. Callum has the strangest urge to travel back in time and give that younger Ben a hug. He wants to wrap him up tight and protect him from the viciousness of the world and other people’s unreasonable expectations. Something tells him that, if he could, they wouldn’t be standing here now, having this conversation.

“He snatched me up in the street, dragged me up to that stupid bridge and threatened to throw me off it. I tried to get away from him but I couldn’t, I wasn’t strong enough. I so terrified I was going to die that all I could do was stand there and sob. Pathetic, huh?”

“Ben,” Callum says helplessly, stepping away from the door and pulling the shorter man into the hug he denied him earlier.

He holds him close, lifting a hand to card his fingers through Ben’s hair. Ever since Ben got shot, it’s something he’s done whenever Ben needs comfort, only now it’s Callum that needs the reassurance. He has to make sure that Ben’s OK, that he’s safe.

“You weren’t pathetic. You were just a kid. He should never have scared you like that.”

“It’s all right,” Ben says. “It was a long time ago; I was a different person back then. In fact, I barely even remember it.”

From the tremors running through Ben’s body, Callum knows that last part is a lie. It’s the bit before that which makes him the saddest though. _I was a different person back then_. Callum knows how soul destroying it is to hate who you are. How exhausting it is to spend all of your time and energy building up walls and putting on masks to distract away from the truth.

Ben was the one who rescued him from all of that, who made it so that Callum can finally look at himself in the mirror and be proud of the man he sees staring back at him. Now, it’s up to Callum to do the same for Ben.

He only hopes it will be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third chapter was supposed to be the last, but since Friday’s revelation that Callum wants to join the police, I had too many ideas to fit them all in here. The last chapter should be up in the week. Thanks for reading, I’d love to hear your thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the ridiculously long wait. I lost a bit of confidence with this story, but recent events on the Square made me determined to pick it back up and give it a proper ending. I hope you enjoy.

“Is it over now, this thing with Martin?” Callum asks, bringing Ben with him as he leans back against the cushions. He ends up sprawled halfway across Callum’s lap, his head tucked up tight in the space beneath his chin.

They’d relocated to the couch after he’d confessed what had happened to him as a kid. He hadn’t wanted to tell Callum at first, he didn’t like remembering the past. There were too many ghosts there, too many memories that haunted him still. Memories filled with villains that sprung straight out from the darker pages of his childhood fairy tales. There was the bald-headed ogre who roared and thundered, smashing up things and people with his giant hands, and the thin, pale witch who saw everything and whispered horrible things and cut into his skin with her sharp, red fingernails. But Callum wasn’t a monster. He was the prince who rode in to banish the darkness and save the day. He wanted to save Ben too, all Ben had to do was let him. That was easier said than done, though. In order to be saved, first you had to admit that you needed rescuing, and Ben has never been good at admitting when he needs help.

“Yes,” he says now, because it’s what Callum wants to hear, and because, deep down, he wants it to be true. He wants it to be over, to be able to stay here in this moment with Callum and never have to venture back outside. He’s better like this. When it’s just the two of them he doesn’t have to put up a front, act the hard man, uphold the family name. Here, cradled tenderly against Callum’s chest, breathing in time with his boyfriend’s heartbeat, he’s no longer a Mitchell. Not really. He’s just Ben and, for the first time in his life, it feels like it might be enough.

“You hungry?” Callum asks, snapping Ben out of his train of thought.

”What?”

“Are you hungry? I ain’t had a chance to eat dinner yet, have you?”

As if hearing it’s cue, Ben’s stomach gurgles loudly, air rumbling through his empty insides. He hadn’t noticed it before, but suddenly he’s starving. Ravenous. He feels like he could scoff down one of his mum’s full English breakfasts and it wouldn’t even begin touch the sides.

Callum chuckles, his chest vibrating softly beneath Ben’s head. Ben’s eyes slip shut. It feels like being rocked to sleep, and Ben can’t remember the last time someone did that for him, if they ever did. Ben thinks Callum would though, if he asked him to. He’d sit here for hours, chuckling away to himself just to make Ben happy. He’s that sort of bloke, and Ben doesn’t know what he did to ever wind up this lucky.

“I could eat,” he says, regretting it the second Callum makes to get up. He pulls him back, reclaiming his place against his chest, Callum’s heart beating rhythmically against his cheek. “I don’t want to move, though.”

Callum tenses, clearly torn between cradling Ben and feeding him. After a few moments, he relaxes back into the cushions with a sigh. “Okay, just a couple more minutes. I still ain’t made you my famous chicken dish yet.”

Ben snorts. “I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait, babe. Just like I was.”

Callum doesn’t answer, and Ben wishes he’d kept his mouth shut. He always has to push it, making jokes when no one’s in the mood to laugh. He never learns. Callum’ll probably ask him to leave now, and he’ll have no one to blame but himself.

Sure enough, Callum’s arm lets go of Ben’s waist. Ben stiffens, expecting to be pushed away, but Callum only lifts his hand up to Ben’s hair, long fingers scraping against Ben’s scalp in a way that never fails to make his body go loose and boneless. He struggles against the urge to close his eyes; he needs to look at Callum, to see what he’s thinking by scanning his all too readable face.

“Yeah,” Callum says, and his eyes are soft, lost in good memories. “You were worth it.”

“Even now?” Ben asks, even as his chest fills with warmth.

Callum nods. “I ain’t stupid, Ben. I know you ain’t a saint. I always knew that. Just like I know you ain’t a bad person, not on the inside. That’s why I need to know why you did that to Martin, because it ain’t who you really are.”

“I told you-“

“He held you off a bridge once, yeah, I know. I’m so sorry to had to go through that, Ben, but somehow I don’t think you’ve been holding onto that all these years, just waiting to get revenge. Something happened today that made you snap. I want you to tell me what it was.”

Ben freezes, half-annoyed by Callum’s perceptiveness, half-grateful for it. Not many people know him well enough to understand him like that. Usually, he likes it that way, but Callum? Callum is different. Callum is someone he wants to let inside.

”We’re involved in something, Martin and me.”

“Something illegal?”

Ben says nothing, and Callum nods. He’s got his answer. “He wasn’t keeping up his side of the bargain, so I needed to give him some extra motivation.”

“By putting his life in danger?”

“They wouldn’t have dropped him.”

“You can’t be sure of that, Ben. Accidents happen. You could have had a body on your hands tonight.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ben mutters darkly.

“That time it weren’t your fault. This would have been,” Callum says, not letting him off the hook.

If this were anyone else, Ben would get up and leave, maybe even throw a punch or two first, but Callum is warm and safe against him, and he’s not accusing, just stating the truth. It’s a truth Ben needs to hear.

“I know you think you’ve got to live up to the great Mitchell name or whatever-“

“It’s not about that,” Ben cuts in sharply.

“Of course it is. You want to impress your dad, you always have. But, what you keep forgetting, Ben, is that he ain’t the only Mitchell anymore. You’re family’s grown now, it’s changed. It don’t have to mean the same thing it used to.”

“Tell that to my old man.”

“I will,” Callum says, and Ben believes him. He’s seen men built like tanks cower in front of his dad like school kids, but Callum? Doe-eyed, soft-centred Callum? He’d stand up to him in a heartbeat if it meant protecting Ben. He knows he would. They may not have said the words yet, but Ben knows he’s loved. He feels it every time Callum looks at him, right down in his bones. It’s as thrilling as it is terrifying.

“Phil might have been the one you looked up to as a kid, but he ain’t your favourite family member anymore.”

“Ain’t he?” Ben teases.

Callum smiles, bright and true. “No. It’s Lexi who’s the centre of your world now. It’s her you want to impress the most. So do it. Be the dad she deserves. Be the Ben me and her know you are, not the one your dad wants you to be.”

“You should go into counselling, you. You could talk anyone into anything.”

Callum gives him a funny look, both flattered and troubled. “I was thinking of trying out for another career, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ben says, snuggling down further into Callum’s chest. He could really do with that chicken thing right about now, but he’s too comfortable to move.

“Yeah, I was thinking of trying out for the police.”

Ben snorts, stroking idly along Callum’s chest. “Umm, I can just picture you in the uniform.”

Callum stills Ben’s hand, capturing it in his own. “I’m serious.”

Ben looks up at him. He is. He’s serious. Ben swallows down the panic rising in his chest. They’ve overcome so much tonight, there’s no way he’ll let something like this sink them.

“All right,” he says, slowly, beginning to wrap his head around the idea. “Good job I’m trying to be a better man then, ain’t it? Otherwise, you’d have to bring me in, interrogate me until you uncovered all my naughty little secrets.”

Callum laughs, loud and full of relief. Ben wonders how long he’s been keeping this to himself, worried about telling Ben and upsetting this thing they’ve got going. He vows to be better from now on; he wants Callum to be able to tell him anything and everything. He wants him to know there’s nothing he could say that would make Ben turn away.

“As if I could ever get them out of you,” Callum says. “You’ve got an answer for everything.”

“Can’t help being brilliant.”

“No, I guess you can’t. You’re really okay about this then?”

Ben shrugs. “If it’s what you want to do.”

“It is.”

“Well then, I think you’ll be incredible. Show the Old Bill how it should really be done. There’s one condition though.”

“What’s that?”

Ben moves to straddle Callum’s hips, framing his lovely face in his hands. He can’t quite believe they’ve ending up here. An hour ago he thought he’d lost Callum for good. Now here he is, surrounded by him. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“You’ve got to promise you’ll bring your handcuffs home. And the hat. And maybe the truncheon, for when I’ve been extra good.”

Callum pulls him close, their lips pressing together softly, seeking home. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Ben’s not worried, if Callum can save a man like him, then nothing is beyond him. The best part of it is, he makes Ben feel that way too. And who knows, maybe, just maybe, he might be right.

The Mitchell and the copper, Ben thinks, smiling as he loses himself in the kiss. It sounds like the start of another fairy tale. A better one, with no ogres or witches in sight.


End file.
